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Title:
Stand or Fall Thanks for beta-reading and cheerleading from Wormie. She makes my work better, and I thank her greatly for it. nks Come here directly without going to my main Witchblade fanfic page?
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***** Ian let his fingers hover a scant centimeter from Sara’s hair. Though she seemed to be sleeping deeply, he didn’t want to risk waking her. He had thought that she might have difficulty sleeping in the same bed with him – it not being something that either of them was used to – but she had curled on her side, thrown an arm over him and been asleep in less than thirty seconds. It had taken Ian much longer to fall asleep. He had never before shared a bed with anyone, and, exhausted by the past few days as he had been, he had been unable to fall asleep immediately. He must have at some point, because when he had woken up just a few minutes ago, he was almost surprised to find Sara still there. She had moved away slightly, but her hand was on his chest and her face, free of the worry he had grown so used to seeing, was turned toward him. The bedroom door was open, and dim light from the rest of the apartment provided plenty of light for Ian’s genetically-altered vision to see. He’d become entranced by her brown hair, the shine of it beautiful even in the little light there was. Never would he have believed that Sara would want him here in her bed. Even just sleeping, for his first time, it was magical. Sara’s eyes snapped open. “Out,” she barked. Ian snatched his hand back. Had he done something to displease her? “Out!” she yelled this time and jumped out of bed. “Something’s wrong – we have to get out!” Ian vaulted out of bed, not bothering to question how or what she knew. He could feel her panic now, and knew that whatever it was, she believed it to be bad and that was enough for him. Sara pushed past him, running, and pulled their coats down from the hook by the door. Ian darted to her side and began undoing the locks on the door while she bent down and grabbed something from the floor. “No time,” she said, standing up. “Break it down.” When he hesitated, Sara yelled, “Break it down!” With a kick at the level of the toughest lock, Ian did as he was told. The door broke away from the frame, and Sara yanked it open. She shoved him toward the stairs, following close behind him. “Run!” Ian barreled down the steps as fast as he could, stopping only to yank open the door to the street. As she ran past him, Sara grabbed his sleeve and pulled him along behind her. They barely made it into a nearby alley when the explosion rocked the street. ***** Sara watched their home burn. She could hear the sirens coming now, but there was nothing the fire department was going to be able to do, except keep the fire from spreading. Ian came back from his reconnaissance and sat beside her on the curb. It was snowing, but this close to the immense fire, Sara wasn’t even cold. She should have been, dressed only in a t-shirt and the boots she had grabbed before she’d run out; she’d even taken her coat off, it was so hot. “Find anything?” she asked. “Bricks. More bricks.” He pulled something from his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Your address book. But nothing suspicious. You sure you’re OK?” Sara nodded. “Just some scratches.” The shrapnel from the building had pattered down around them in the alley, but nothing big had hit either of them. One chunk of wall had come flying at them, but the Witchblade had deflected it without Sara even having to think about it. Ian had fewer cuts than she did, just by the virtue of having both a shirt and pants on; Sara looked like she’d been shaving her legs in the dark. She might not be wearing a skirt for a while, but she was happy to be alive. It was the Witchblade that had saved them in the first place. Sara had been woken from the first restful sleep she’d had in days with the knowledge that they had to get out of the building right away. The Witchblade had urged her so strongly that she hadn’t questioned it. She was glad that she hadn’t, or they probably wouldn’t have made it far enough away. She was also glad that the rest of the building had been unoccupied; if she had needed to stop to get anyone else out, no one would have made it. Ian leaned over to lace up his boots. Sara was glad she’d thought to grab them. With glass from the neighborhood’s blown-out windows everywhere, his feet would have been sliced to ribbons if he’d gone wandering around without them. As it was, he still had slivers of glass in his hair. She put a hand on his back as he started to sit up. “Stay still.” She began to carefully pick the shiny shards out of his loose hair. “You’ve got glass in your curls.” Ian reached up a hand, but Sara smacked it away. “Stop it; you’ll get cut.” Ian rested his chin on his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. He stared at the burning building while Sara carefully ran her fingers through his hair. It was nearly a minute before he spoke. “I guess I’m out of a job again,” he said. ***** "Stop." The television’s automatic channel flipping stopped, and Kenneth Irons squinted at the screen. “Magnify. Volume.” The screen zoomed in fifty percent and a voice spoke from the speakers hidden around the room. “—sure of the cause. The building was completely leveled, however, the only occupants were able to escape safely. Windows were shattered in nearby buildings, but the fire has been contained.” “Mute.” Irons leaned back in his chair. Though disheveled, the two figures talking to a police officer in the background of the scene were Sara and Ian. With that information, he was able to recognize the location: their apartment building. Former apartment building, apparently. Though Dr. Immo had reported to him that nothing appeared to be physically wrong with Sara Pezzini, Irons still worried. He needed her. At least her. She was the perfect brood mare for his more ambitious experiment, and for that, he required his rebellious creation, Ian Nottingham, as well. With this change in their fortunes, perhaps he could be of some assistance and begin to insinuate himself back into their lives. He tapped a button on the table next to him. Within moments, his housekeeper appeared through the great doors of the study. “Send a car to 2432 George St.” Irons tapped his fingers on the arms of leather chair. “Send Perrault. Tell him he is to offer Ian and Sara my hospitality.” Irons waved his hand at the woman, and she left. He didn’t expect them to accept, but it was certainly worth a try. They had never cashed his Christmas gift and, even if they hadn’t destroyed it, it was likely gone now. Perhaps they could be persuaded to come to him for help in their hour of need. ***** “Hey, thanks, man. I’ll give you a call later this week.” Gabriel Bowman set the phone back in its cradle and leaned back in his chair. It was amazing: an hour’s worth of phone calls, and he was well on his way to making $40,000. Life was good. He’d never been happier. His business was booming – after only a year, he had a loyal clientele that came to him first for anything they needed, and he’d gained the respect of all the tradespeople he needed to be successful in his work. Sure, his parents weren’t talking to him, but as archaeologists, they had a slightly different view of where the artifacts he peddled belonged. But what good did they do locked up behind glass in museums? Wasn’t what he bought and sold the very heart and soul of humanity? Didn’t they deserved to be touched? To be handled with the reverence they deserved? And for a decent price? A knock at his door startled him out of his reverie. “Hold on!” he yelled and jumped up. On his way to the door, he pushed a few of the less legal items he had in stock to the back of the shelves. He’d been meaning to put those in storage, but time had just slipped by too fast lately. He checked through the peephole, but whoever was there was standing too close to the door for him to get a good look. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but some of the people he bought from tended to just stop by whenever they acquired something he might be interested in. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. Before he could even ask what the guy wanted, Gabe found himself shoved backward, slamming his back painfully into one of his metal shelving units. His attacker lunged for him, but Gabe dropped to the floor, kicking out at a knee, a move he’d had ample time to practice on the playground as a kid. His kick missed, but Gabe scuttled backwards across the floor, around a shelf and out of range for a second. He swung his eyes around the shelves wildly. A weapon. He needed a weapon. He spotted a gold-handled knife on the shelf nearest him. He grabbed it, his brain uselessly supplying that it was reputed to be the one that Brutus used to kill Ceasar. Gabe didn’t believe that, but he was glad he’d bought it right now. His attacker rounded the corner and Gabe got only a brief glimpse of a the man’s face before the guy threw himself at Gabe. Not even thinking, Gabe pointed the knife upward. As the man landed, his face first showed a mad glee, then confusion, then pain. Then nothing. ***** Jake McCartey flashed his badge at the uniformed officer manning the barricade. Behind him, Vicky poked at his back, eager to get past. Before she managed to leave any bruises, the officer swung the sawhorse aside and they got through. “Sara!” Vicky called, pushing past Jake. Sara turned around and waved. Vicky rushed over to where his partner and Ian were talking with a fireman, but Jake took it a little more slowly. He was still a little weirded out by what he had seen with Sara last night. He hadn’t been able to sleep, which is how he had caught the news of the explosion on the early morning news. He’d called Vicky, and she’d insisted on them going down there, with her toting along a change of clothes for Sara. It looked like she could use them. Her bare legs stuck out from under a long, way too big wool coat. Ian was fully dressed, though he wasn’t wearing a coat. Only now did Jake think that the other man might need something like that. Maybe he had another jacket in his trunk or something. “Hey, Jake,” Sara said as he reached them. “How’re you doing?” Her eyes searched his face and Jake couldn’t help but drop his gaze from hers. He didn’t want to talk about that whole … werewolf … weirdness yet. “Fine,” he said shortly. “So your place blew up. Bummer.” “Jake!” Vicky swatted him a little more than playfully on the arm. “Have a heart! They just lost everything!” She turned to Sara. “You have insurance, right?” “Uh …” Sara glanced quickly at Ian. “We really didn’t have anything worth insuring. Except the bike, but I had insurance for that.” “We’ll figure something out,” Ian said. “I’m sure we’ll…” He trailed off as he stared past Jake’s shoulder. Following the other man’s eyes, they ended up on a man standing at the police barricade. In an impeccably tailored suit, he looked completely out of place. Jake looked back to Ian. He had moved so that the man’s view of Sara was blocked … or possibly the other way around. “You can stay at my place for a while,” Vicky offered. “It’s tiny, but big enough for two for a few days.” She winked. “I’ve been sleeping most nights at Jake’s anyway. Jake says you’d better get back into the office today, Sara, since Dante’s not going to take any excuse from you, but I’m off today. I could hang out with Ian, take care of stuff…” “That's awfully big of you, Vik.” Sara gave a grin that looked a little bit forced. “But yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.” Sara looked up at Ian. “OK?” He only stared at her blankly for a moment, then, with a tiny shake of his head, smiled at both women. Jake frowned as their faces softened as they smiled back. “Sounds wonderful.” He took Sara’s arm, then Vicky’s. “I think we’ve done all we can here. Shall we go now?” Being a little too gallant for Jake’s taste, Ian walked off with the women, carefully steering them away from the barricade. Jake turned back to look, but the other man was gone. Who had he been? Why had Ian looked so unnerved? Jake didn’t know, but he was going to find out. ***** Ian pushed aside the curtains and looked down the five stories to the street. The black Jaguar sedan was still parked across from the entrance to Vicky’s building. It had followed them, then parked when Vicky and Ian had gotten out. Ian was actually relieved about that. Perrault was here for him, not Sara, who had continued on to work with Jake. Karlis Perrault, an ex-marine, was a member of the security team that protected Irons, both at home and at work. Proficient in several martial arts and able to use any weapon that fell into his hands, Perrault was the one Ian would have guessed had succeeded him as head of security. It appeared he had been right. “I found some clothes for you,” Vicky’s said from behind him. “They’re Jake’s, but I think they’ll fit, at least long enough for me to toss yours in the wash.” Ian let the curtain fall and turned. Vicky held out a pair of blue jeans and a bulky cream-colored sweater. He took an involuntary step back. “I know, I know.” Vicky grinned. “I’ve never seen you in anything but black, but just for an hour or so, OK? Sara would kill me if I let you sit around in dirty clothes all day.” She was right. He was being silly. There was nothing wrong with the clothes. Well, the sweater was just plain ugly, but he could live with it for an hour. He took the clothes from Vicky. “Thanks.” “Go get a shower.” She gestured toward the door behind her. “Toss your clothes out, and I’ll run out right away.” ***** Sara had been pulling her damp hair into a ponytail when Jake poked his head into the office to tell her they already had a case to go out on. She was glad she’d had the chance to take a shower at the precinct’s gym when she could, because it looked like she was going to be getting right back to her hectic schedule, blown up home be damned. The ride to the scene had been short and silent. Jake kept frowning and glancing at the Witchblade on her wrist, but Sara had decided to let him bring it up. She didn’t doubt that he had a lot of questions to ask her, but she wasn’t going to force the answers on him. Sara stepped out of the car and was swarmed by images from the Witchblade. A little nervous laugh. “It's a dotcom world, baby. You ...
uh ... drop out, start up and get rich.” Looking up and down the hallway and seeing no one. “So, do you always talk to yourself, or do you just save it for when you're around me?” Irons’ tired voice, feigning boredom. “Gabriel. How appropriate. The angelic herald. The messenger.” A sharp snap and her own voice screaming, “No!” Sara staggered and grabbed at the roof of the car. This was Gabriel Bowman’s building. She hadn’t yet met him in this lifetime, but she knew him … knew him well. “Uh, Jake, who’s the victim here?” she asked once she was sure her voice would be steady. With a sigh, he pulled his notebook from his hip pocket and pulled it open. Flipping through, he stopped at a page and read. “Intruder. No name given. Guy named Bowman says it was self-defense.” Sara let out her breath; she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it. With a shrug, she gestured to the door. “Come on, partner, let’s get to work.” ***** Vicky had run down to the laundromat down the street and had said she’d be back in about an hour – so that meant she should be back any minute now. Ian hoped it didn’t take much longer; he felt like an idiot in these clothes. The jeans were skintight, and the sweater looked even uglier on, its big turtleneck collar making him feel like his head was about to be swallowed. He restlessly paced the tiny studio apartment, checking the clock every few minutes. He wasn’t going to be happy until he was back in his own clothes. Ian looked out the window again. The car was still there, though the dark shape of Perrault was gone from the front seat. Ian moved to the door of the apartment and peered through the spyhole. Perrault, in his usual black suit, was standing in front of the door, one hand raised to knock. Ian pulled open the door. Perrault’s eyes widened as he looked Ian up and down. “What can I do for you, Perrault?” The other man lowered his hand slowly and shook his head slightly. A small grin crossed his Gallic features. “Nottingham, it is good to see you. I never thought I would say such a thing.” Perrault’s French-accented speech reflected a childhood spent in Quebec. “It has been a strange … no, stranger … place without you.” Ian found himself smiling in spite of himself. For all the threat that Perrault represented to his freedom, he had been one of the few of the security staff that had never been afraid of Ian – or at least had not acted like it. That didn’t mean that Ian trusted him, though. Perrault still worked for Irons. The other man grinned and shook his head again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before,” he said. “Smile, I mean.” Ian shrugged. It was probably true. But it didn’t explain why the other man was here. Perrault obviously knew that. The grin faded from his face and his voice took on an official, bored tone. “Mr. Irons asked me to convey to you his desire that you and Ms. Pezzini accept his hospitality in your current time of need.” “No,” Ian growled, then tried to speak more civilly – Perrault, after all, was only the messenger. “Tell him no. Never.” Perrault nodded, his face impassive. A ding sounded and over the other man’s shoulder, Ian saw Vicky step off the elevator, her hands full of bags. Even far down the hall, Ian could sense her hesitation as she saw the unknown man at her apartment door. Perrault followed Ian’s eyes and glanced over his shoulder. When he looked back, Perrault’s face showed an understanding that Ian hadn’t expected. “My apologies for disturbing you, sir,” Perrault said in a voice that would carry to Vicky as she came down the hallway. “I guess my aunt and uncle must have moved.” Perrault turned on his heel and strode down the hall, nodding as he passed Vicky. “What was that about?” she asked as she came to the door. Ian took some of the bags from her. “Just mistaken identity, I guess.” Ian closed the door behind her. ***** Jake scanned the room as they entered. Though he couldn’t see how big it was, it was stuffed full of shelves, all full of, as far as he could tell, junk. On the shelf next to him were a pile of old books, a pair of ratty faded red dancing slippers, and a pile of what looked like used guitar strings. A perfectly dust-free spot indicated something had been moved recently. Probably just another piece of crap. A group of people were gathered just past a set of shelves. Jake and Sara joined them. “What have you got?” Sara asked. Jake didn’t recognize the coroner, and he only then realized that it had been quite a while since he’d worked with someone other than Vicky on a case. They’d been spending a lot of time together, both in and out of work, and it looked like they were going to be seeing even more of each other, if Sara and Ian were going to be staying at Vicky’s place. That was going to be a little weird, Jake had to admit. If Vicky was going to be staying at his place more, then it would almost be like they were living together. Jake was jerked out of his thoughts as the coroner answered. “Dead guy. Single stab wound straight to the heart, probably died in under a minute. Fell on the knife, most likely.” He pointed to the thermometer stuck into the corpse’s chest. “Your T.O.D should be ready in just a minute.” Sara nodded and jerked her head toward the back of the room. Jake followed. A young man with short brown hair and a black t-shirt sat on a ratty couch, his arms wrapped around his skinny chest, hugging himself. “Gabriel,” Sara whispered. Jake frowned. He could have sworn he hadn’t mentioned the suspect’s first name, but she was right: they guy’s name was Gabriel Bowman. Sara all but ran to the couch and sat next to Bowman, reaching out as if to put her arm around his shoulders, but stopped herself and dropped her hand to her lap. “You OK?” she asked instead. Bowman looked hard at Sara, then, with a small shake of his head, smiled a little. “Uh, yeah.” Bowman glanced up at Jake then back to Sara. “Who are you guys?” “Oh, uh …” Sara pulled her badge out of her pocket. “Sara Pezzini, NYPD Homicide. This is my partner, Jake McCartey.” She put her badge back and cocked her head to the side. “Can you tell us what happened here?” “Yeah, yeah.” The young man hugged himself a little tighter. “About and hour ago, someone knocked on my door and when I opened it, the guy just came at me. I fell down and grabbed the knife.” He nodded to a bagged bloody knife on the table next to him. “And then he just fell on top of me.” He nodded to another bag, then shivered. “Your guys took my shirt into evidence. It’s completely soaked with blood.” “Did you recognize the man?” Jake asked. Bowman shook his head. “Never seen him before.” “Is there any reason someone might want to hurt you?” Sara asked, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Other than robbery?” Bowman shrugged. “No.” There was a tap on Jake’s shoulder. He turned to find the coroner standing there. He motioned Jake aside. “What’s up?” Jake asked after they’d moved about ten feet away behind a set of shelves. “I’ve got your time of death,” the coroner said, frowning. “It was about two to three hours ago.” “What? The kid said this only happened an hour ago,” Jake said. “I heard that.” The guy looked down at his clipboard and shrugged. “That’s why I pulled you aside.” With another shrug, the coroner went back to where his assistant was bagging the body. Jake put his hands on his hips and sighed. Why would Bowman have lied about when he’d been attacked? What could he have done in the extra hour or two? Jake scanned the room, as if the answer might be there, but all he saw were shelves, covered in random junk and dust. His eyes stopped on the shelf across from him. Or not all covered in dust. There was a clean spot there, just like on the shelf by the door. He glanced around and noted that at least a quarter of the shelves had a similar dustless spot somewhere on them. Bowman had done a little housecleaning before he’d called the cops. What did he have to hide? ***** Irons put his cup down on its saucer, letting Perrault wait. The fact that his head of security had not returned with Ian and Sara at his side indicated that the offer of hospitality had been rejected. While Irons had not expected it to be accepted, he found himself angry nonetheless. He rearranged the blanket across his knees, then looked up at Perrault. While not nearly as subservient as Ian had been, Perrault stood a respectful distance away, calmly awaiting notice. He rested with the same wide-legged stance as Ian had, but with his shoulders back and head high, eyes fixed on a point some distance behind Irons’ chair. A military man to the core, Irons decided. Happiest while taking orders, loyal to his commander. Irons frowned. Ian had been Perrault’s commander. “I take it they declined my offer,” Irons said. Perrault’s eyes snapped to his. “Mr. Nottingham did, sir. I did not speak to Ms. Pezzini.” “Why not?” “Mr. Nottingham and Ms. Pezzini went separate ways. I determined that Mr. Nottingham would be more amenable to the offer, since he knew me.” Irons thought he saw a smile flicker across Perrault’s face, but his voice never changed. “He was not.” Irons sighed. He didn’t doubt that was an understatement. “Very well,” Irons said, waving his hand at the other man. “You may go.” After Perrault left, Irons stared into the fire. Why had Ian and Sara separated? Immo had described Ian’s care for the Wielder as almost over-protective, and Irons doubted that Ian would be willing to leave Sara’s side if she were truly ill. Could Sara be better? Could she be back at work? And, if they had not accepted his invitation of housing, where were they? ***** The chick detective – he couldn’t remember their names – was looking at him strangely. Gabe shifted a little farther away from her; she was sitting a little too close to him on the couch for him to feel comfortable. It wasn’t that she creeped him out or anything, but for some reason the cop reminded him of his sister Mary, and he wouldn’t want her sitting so close. Actually, she even looked like Mary, with her brown hair and blue-green eyes. Mary’s hair was wild curls, but still, they looked an awful lot alike. The cop even had the same look on her face, the one that said, “Poor baby, let me take care of you.” Gabe hated that look from his sister; he sure as hell didn’t want to see it from a stranger. That must have been what made him think he’d seen her before when she first walked in. The other cop came back from talking to the coroner. Pulling a chair over from the desk, the blonde surfer-looking guy sat down and took his notepad out of his pocket. Flipping it open, he glanced down, then shook his head. “I can’t believe it,” he said and held up his notebook to show a blank page. “I forgot to write down what you told us.” He fished a pen out of his shirt pocket. “When did you say all this happened again?” Gabe wasn’t fooled. That question was far too casual, and unfortunately, far too appropriate to be just a random thing. He was saved from having to answer by the other cop. “About an hour ago, he said.” She shook her head. “Jeez, Jake, pay attention.” “Sorry,” the blonde cop – Jake – said to his partner, then looked at Gabe. “An hour ago then? “Uh, yeah,” Gabe said, unwrapping his arms from himself, trying to look more confident. “I didn’t look at the clock or anything, but I’m pretty sure.” Jake smiled. “Great.” He turned to his partner. “You got any more questions for him, Sara? ‘Cause I think we’re done for now.” Sara stared at Gabe for a long moment, then shook her head. “No questions.” She stood up. “I’ll – we’ll be in contact if we need anything else.” She patted her pockets, then looked at her partner. “Jake, you got a card on you? All mine, well, blew up.” The lightbulb suddenly went on in Gabe’s head. “You were on the news this morning! You were in that building that exploded.” Gabe shook his head. “Man, I don’t know how you got out of there. That place was leveled.” Sara just shrugged and shoved her hands deep into her pockets. Jake handed him a card. “We’ll be in touch,” the man said. They left, but Gabe noticed Jake checking out the shelves as he walked by. Gabe hoped that the rest of the cops would clear out soon. It looked like he needed to set up a clandestine clearance sale. ***** Jake was buying Sara lunch, not because he really wanted to, she knew, but because she was currently broke. He still was a little uncomfortable around her, but she was trying to be understanding. She’d had a couple months to get used to the changes the Witchblade had made in her worldview. Jake’s world had only been turned upside down last night, when he had seen Marina Dragash killed with silver and her corpse turn from a wolf back to a human. That was a lot to mentally process in less than twenty-four hours. The waitress brought their orders, grilled cheese for her and some hummus pita thing for Jake. She wolfed hers down, but Jake just picked at his. After a few minutes of watching him, Sara put down the last few bites of her sandwich. “Jake, do you want to talk?” He shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Everything’s just …” He thumped his fists down on the table. “Complicated now.” “And things weren’t complicated before?” Sara asked. “Yeah, but … I knew where I stood. I knew what the world was like. Or I thought I did, anyway.” He leaned back in his chair. “How do you do it? How can you be so calm? Doesn’t it bother you that your apartment blew up this morning?” “Of course it bothers me. But I’m alive. Ian’s alive.” She shrugged. “It could have been a lot worse.” “But what about … last night?” “I wouldn’t say that was normal for me, but my life’s been pretty weird lately.” She smiled. “Though I think that may have been the weirdest thing yet.” Jake opened his mouth to speak, but his cell phone squawked in his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the number, then frowned. Without answering, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket, then stood. “Be back in a few.” He headed out the front door and crossed the street, stopping at a graffiti-covered pay phone. He picked up the receiver and dialed. Sara finished her sandwich as she watched him talk. He paced back and forth, as far as the cord would allow, occasionally gesturing widely with his free hand, even though whoever was on the other end couldn’t see it. After a few minutes, he slammed the phone down and stalked back across the street. He shoved open the door with more force than he really needed, and when he got to their table, threw himself into his chair. “What’s up?” Sara asked, raising her eyebrows. “That was my … other boss. Looks like my life just got even more complicated.” He slammed his fists down on the table. “I’ve got to dump Vicky.” ***** Sara’s stunned face stared at him from across the table. “What?” she eventually managed to ask. He sighed. He supposed it was good that Sara knew he was a federal agent. If she didn’t, he would have no one to talk to about this. “That was my other boss on the phone.” He waited until Sara nodded to indicate she understood who he was talking about. “He said that Vicky is a … distraction.” Actually he’d said that Jake was allowing his dick to do his thinking, but Sara didn’t need to know that. “If I don’t get back to work and break up with Vicky, then they’re going to pull me out.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is the best thing.” “What are you talking about, Jake McCartey?” Sara demanded. “Best for who? In case you hadn’t noticed, Vicky’s pretty gone on you.” “Do you know how hard it is to lie to her all the time? How crappy that makes me feel?” He threw his hands in the air, then let them fall heavily to his sides. “I can’t tell her the truth – hell, you’re not even supposed to know! Maybe it’s just better if I get out now. Before it gets too serious.” “There’s got to be another way.” Sara slouched back in her chair. “I know you can’t tell her without risking the investigation, but … there’s got to be something!” “I can’t think of anything.” He stared blindly at the table in front of him. “He’s kind of right, though. I have been slacking off. It’s been nice to just pretend to have a normal life for a while. I haven’t really been doing a lot of investigation. And now that she’s going to be staying at my place … I really won’t be able to …” “Ian and I can find somewhere else to stay. Don’t use that as an excuse,” Sara snapped, then took a deep breath. She smiled a half smile at him. “Sorry. I just don’t want to see Vicky hurt. She really likes you, Jake.” “I know. And I really like her. But I don’t think I’ve got a choice.” Jake dropped his head into his hands. This day was really beginning to suck. ***** Ian wasn’t used to making chit-chat. He had been conditioned his entire ten years of life to be silent, and, even now, he preferred to listen rather than talk. Sara was more than happy to do most of the talking, or just sit quietly with him. Not Vicky. She liked to talk and to listen. She asked questions and expected them to be answered, and he’d quickly discovered that she was as good as Sara at spotting an evasion. He’d never talked more than he had today, nor been as creative in his answers. She’d wanted to know about his family, his childhood, his time in the military, where he’d gone to college – basically, everything but his shoe size. The problem was that he didn’t really have answers that he could give her. He’d never had parents as she knew them, his childhood had been spent in a vat of sticky blue nutrient fluid, he’d been drugged in the military, and he’d never gone to a school ever. Telling her that truth was just not an option. It had gone that way from lunchtime until dark, and he was beginning to run out of creative answers So he was glad when there had been a knock on the door, and Vicky had opened it to let in Sara and Jake. He wasn’t glad for long, though. One glance at Sara’s face told him that something was wrong. Jake looked unhappy and, strangely, nervous, though Vicky didn’t seem to notice. Sara didn’t close the door behind her, but nodded at Ian. “Let’s go for a walk.” She smiled, but it never reached her eyes. “I’ve been cooped up all day, and so have you, I’m sure.” Ian jumped up and grabbed his coat. He had to admit that he was glad to be out of Vicky’s questions, even if it looked like he wasn’t going to be happy about why. They walked in silence, a light snow falling around them on the relatively quiet street. After a few blocks, Sara steered them into a park and toward a bench. Ian brushed off the seat and sat down, and Sara, after a moment of staring back the way they had come, sat down next to him. “We can’t stay at Vicky’s,” she said. “Why not?” “Jake has been ordered by his superiors to break up with her.” She tentatively laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s stupid, but neither of us can see a solution that doesn’t involve getting Jake in even more trouble.” “He’s doing it now?” Ian asked. “That’s pretty fast.” “He wanted to do it before he lost his nerve.” She sighed. “Where can we stay?” Ian didn’t want to tell Sara about the offer from Irons. There had to be another option. “Anka might be willing to help,” he said hopefully. She lifted her head up and looked at him. “Yeah, right, and I can go all crazy and sick again. No thanks. But where else can we go?” Something must have shown on his face, because she suddenly narrowed her eyes at him. “What?” “Nothing. I’m just trying to think,” Ian tried. Sara frowned. She wasn’t buying it. It didn’t matter if he told her, he supposed. She would never want to accept Irons’ offer. He might as well tell her. “Mr. Irons sent a messenger today to offer us a place to stay.” Sara opened her mouth, her lips forming the word “no,” but closed it. She looked down to her wrist, and Ian’s eyes followed hers. The stone glowed and swirled. Ian tore his eyes away and found Sara smiling half-heartedly at him. “All right. Irons it is.” ***** Kenneth Irons frowned. The phone number appearing on the display was not one that he recognized. Nonetheless, a slight tingle in the interlocking circles on his hand made him push the button anyway. “Kenneth Irons.” “Send a car.” It took a moment for Irons to recognize Ian’s voice. It was harsh, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Ian angry. “Does this mean you’ll be accepting my hospitality, Ian?” Irons tried to keep the pleasure out of his voice, but he wasn’t sure that he succeeded. “I trust Sara will be coming as well.” There was the sound of murmuring before Ian answered in a stiff, but calmer voice. “Sara and I would be very grateful for your assistance.” There was a pause and more murmuring. “Perrault knows where to find us.” There was a click and the line went dead. Irons broke the connection and leaned back in his chair. Ian may have forgotten his manners, but that didn’t matter. To have them both here, within easy reach … he would tolerate a little misbehavior. ***** Jake came out of the building to find Sara and Ian sitting on the stoop. He knuckled his eyes again, then continued down to the sidewalk. After taking a deep breath, Jake turned to face them. Sara’s expression was concerned, but Ian was staring at the sidewalk, his jaw clenched and his hands bunched into fists on his thighs. Jake nodded toward him, but Sara shook her head. “How’d it go?” she asked. “How do you think?” His voice caught and he had to wait a second before he could speak. “I don’t think she’s ever going to talk to me again.” “Do you want me to … ?” she trailed off. “Talk to her? No, but thanks.” He shook his head. “This is my fault. I’ll take the rap for it. I should have known better anyway.” It was true. He should have known better. What made him think that he could ever have any sort of relationship? He couldn’t be honest with Vicky, not without jeopardizing his mission here. He’d been fooling himself that his life here was what it really looked like. Well, no longer. He was going to buckle down and get to work. He was going to bring the White Bulls down hard. For what they had made him do to Vicky, he was going to tear them apart. “Look, Jake, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have-“ Jake waved her comments off. “You find a place to stay?” She glanced at Ian, then nodded. “You can pick me up tomorrow at 1111 Faust Street,” she said. Jake felt his jaw drop and his eyes go wide. “Kenneth Irons’ place?” Jake saw Ian’s shoulders stiffen at the mention of the name. “But he’s …” “Not an evil man, just a desperate one,” Sara said in the tone of someone who’d already said that many times. Jake thought he heard Ian growl. He didn’t blame him. Kenneth Irons scared the shit out of Jake – Irons knew that he was a federal agent and, according to Sara, Irons pulled the White Bulls’ strings. That was not a good combination. This was a recipe for disaster. “Sara, you can’t be serious! Look, you can stay with me. I’ll put you up in a hotel. Anything,” Jake pleaded. “Don’t bother.” Ian lifted his head and Jake took a step away from his angry eyes. “She won’t listen.” ***** There was only one item that he had held back, mostly because he wasn’t sure how to bill it at his private auction, or if he even really wanted to sell it that way. It had only come into his possession in the last week, and he still was amazed at his luck. He ran his fingers over the small gold chest in front of him. The box, with its fourteenth century Russian style, would be worth a small fortune in and of itself to the right collector, but it was the contents that would bring the real price. He flipped open the lid. Three two-inch long curved pieces of what looked like bone lay in the bottom of the water-stained and rotting silk. They actually were teeth and were far older than the box they’d come in. Thousands of years older. To the right person, they’d be almost priceless. Almost. And he thought he might know the right person. ***** Sara shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of the Jag. It wasn’t that the leather wasn’t the most exquisite she’d ever sat on – no, it wasn’t physical discomfort. It was that she was having second thoughts about this. And third thoughts. And fourth. “Kenneth may be many things, but evil is not one of them. He is prideful, arrogant, and a liar, much as he was then. He is far from perfect, but he is not evil.” So Elizabeth Bronte said. And, as a part of herself, Sara knew she should trust her. But it was really hard to. Kenneth Irons had spent Ian’s whole life pretty much torturing him, had sent that crazed clone after them, then had given her fertility drugs. She was sure he had to be behind the whole werewolf thing, too, though she wasn’t sure how. She just found it unlikely that something horrible had happened to her and Irons wasn’t involved. She glanced over at Ian. He was still staring straight ahead, pointedly avoiding eye contact. She was impressed. A month ago, he wouldn’t have thought to be angry with her and let her know it. Now, she could feel his fury thrumming along the line between them; he could have hidden that, but he wasn’t bothering to. He wanted her to know. … It was actually kind of cute, but she probably shouldn’t tell him that, at least not right now. Massive metal gates suddenly loomed in the swirling snow in front of them. They swung open, and the car continued forward. After winding through the grounds, they stopped in front of a back door. The driver turned around, frowning. “Sorry, Nottingham,” the driver said, his French accent sounding real, not faked. “I should have taken you to the front. Habit.” “What have I told you about habit?” Ian shook his head, and Sara could see the beginnings of a smile on his face. “Standards have dropped.” “Of course they have. Maybe you can give us a few reminders.” The driver grinned, then turned to her. “Ms. Pezzini, I am Karlis Perrault. I would say that I am responsible for your safety while you are here, but I don’t think that Nottingham would give me the pleasure of protecting you.” Sara found herself grinning back. Ian had rushed her into the car so fast that she had barely gotten a look at their driver, and now that she did, she could see that he wasn’t bad to look at. Not as handsome as Ian, but certainly cute in a boyish kind of way. Perrault cocked his head to one side, and his grin grew wider at her inspection. “It isn’t always a pleasure,” Ian said from beside her, any good humor gone again. “Can we go inside, please?” Perrault’s grin disappeared in an instant. He hopped out of the car and opened her door. Sara slid out and Perrault turned to open the door into the house. Sara moved to follow him inside, but Ian’s sudden grip on her arm held her back. “He may be charming, but do not trust him,” Ian said quietly, his lips almost brushing her ear. “Do not be alone with him.” He released her arm and stalked past her into the house. Sara stared after him. “Don’t be alone with him.” What the hell was that about? Was Ian jealous? ***** Ian followed Perrault down the long hallway toward the study. He could hear Sara’s boots on the hardwood floor behind him, though not as close as he would have liked. He paused to let her catch up. She came even with him and he grabbed her arm in what he hoped looked like an affectionate way. “What’s wrong with you?” she whispered as they continued down the hall. “This is a bad idea.” Ian pulled her closer as Perrault looked over his shoulder at them. “We should have accepted Jake’s offer.” Perrault pushed open the study doors in front of them and stood aside. Irons stood in front of the fireplace, one hand on the wall, one on a silver-headed walking stick. He looked older than Ian remembered. Had his perceptions changed so much in just a month? “We’ll just have to be careful,” Sara said through a tight smile. “We can’t distract Jake right now.” “Ian, Sara, I’m so glad you’ve come.” Irons nodded and Ian heard the doors shut behind them. “When I discovered what had happened, I realized that I had a chance to atone for my previous wrongs to you. To both of you.” Ian didn’t believe that was the truth, but he was surprised to find that he wanted to believe it. He wanted to hear, from Irons himself, that the way he had been treated had been wrong, that Irons was sorry, that he would never do it again, to Ian or anyone else. But Ian knew that, even if he did, it would be a lie. Forget Satan – Irons was the Prince of Lies. When neither Sara nor Ian spoke, Irons continued. “Since Ian’s former room is not large enough for two, I’ve had you put in one of the upstairs rooms – the blue room.” Ian was relieved. As the bedrooms went, it was a fairly plain one. There were a few too many lace flounces for his taste, but it was better than some of the others. “I also had your clothes moved there, Ian,” Irons continued, and dropped his eyes to the ground, then looked up under his lashes. “Everything had been where you left it.” Ian almost laughed. His former master was mimicking one of his own expressions. It had never worked for Ian on Irons, and it wasn’t working the other way now. After it was obvious that Ian wasn’t going to say anything, Irons lifted his head with a small shrug. He turned his gaze to Sara. “If you will let me know your preferences, I’ll have some things delivered for you.” “That’s very … kind of you, Mr. Irons.” Sara smiled more genuinely this time. “I’ll let you know.” “I’m sure you’ve had a busy day, so I’ll let you get settled in,” Irons said, his tone obviously dismissive. The door opened behind them and Sara pulled Ian around and out, but not before he noticed Irons’ legs shaking, despite the support of the wall and the cane. Perrault closed the doors behind them, but held his hand up to stop them. “I have to return to my duties,” he said, “but I am to let you know that the staff has been instructed to indulge your every wish. However, I must ask you to refrain from entering the restricted areas.” Perrault looked at Ian. “I’m sure that you will inform Ms. Pezzini of their locations.” “Sara,” she said. “Call me Sara.” “I’ll be sure to,” Ian said, then gave Sara a nudge to get her moving. “I’ll watch her very closely.” ***** “You shouldn’t have bothered to try to impress them,” Immo said as he reached for Irons’ arm. Irons waved him off. He might be tired, but he was perfectly capable of walking to his chair on his own. Well … with the assistance of his cane. With the change in the weather this morning, he had found his knees quite a bit stiffer than he was used to. Irons found the aging process … distasteful. Immo fussed around him like a mother hen, tucking in the blanket, moving his tea closer, checking that he was comfortable, until Irons was about to bash the man’s skull in with the cane. Just before he was about to do so, the doctor moved to sit in the leather chair opposite him. Plucking the remote from the table, Irons pointed it at a section of the wall and pressed a button. A section of wood paneling slid away and revealed a large flat-screen television. Pressing another button, the screen, split into several different views of a room, lit up. “Kenneth,” Immo said, shaking his head. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.” “Quiet.” “This is degrading,” Immo said. “For everyone involved. Me, you, them …” “That is none of your concern.” Irons smiled as the screen showed a door opening. “Hello, children,” Irons said as Sara and Ian walked into view. “Welcome home.” ***** Sara sprawled on her back on the bed while Ian rummaged through the large mahogany wardrobe on the other side of the room. From where she was, she could see that black clothes hung from every hanger, and a glimpse of an opened drawer showed even more black within. How many clothes did Ian have? She knew that he had a fondness for coats – five of them had blown up in their apartment – but she’d never known him to be a clothes horse. That was her job. Apparently satisfied that everything was there, he wandered the room aimlessly for several minutes before coming over to the bed. Pulling his hair from its ponytail, he stared at her for a long moment, his face blank, before he suddenly leapt. He landed on his elbows and knees over her. Too startled to move, she just stared up at him as he entwined his fingers in her hair, and leaned down toward her. She found herself disappointed when all she got was a face full of hair and his cheek pressed against hers. “The room is bugged,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Wired for video and audio.” When she tried to turn her head to look, he held her still with his hands in her hair. “Don’t be obvious.” Sara scanned the room through the veil of Ian’s hair, but saw nothing unusual. However, covert surveillance wasn’t her specialty. It was Ian’s, though. “Where?” She craned her head back, trying to get a better look at the room. “I don’t see anything.” Ian loosened his grip on her hair and slid down so his hair was out of her eyes. She could feel his hot breath on her collarbone through her borrowed shirt. Her breath caught in her throat and she had to force herself to keep her mind on the task at hand. Half-closing her eyes, she carefully looked at the room as he spoke. “Behind the mirror. On top of the wardrobe. Over the door. The lamp on the table. Probably more.” He rolled off her, and Sara gasped at the suddenness. After a moment to collect herself, she turned her head to look at Ian. He was staring at the ceiling, and his breathing was uneven. She resisted the urge to roll over on top of him – now was not the time, especially with an apparent audience. She settled with rolling over on her side to face him, putting her mouth conveniently near his ear. “I never said I trusted him,” she whispered. “Guess I’ll just be doing all my changing in the bathroom.” He turned his head to look at her and his lips almost brushed against hers as he spoke. “It’ll be wired, too.” Sara yearned to lean forward that tiny extra bit to press her lips against his, but didn’t. While she certainly wanted a little satisfaction, she had no desire to do it with Kenneth Irons watching, especially not for their first time – somehow that just didn’t seem at all romantic. “He’s such a bastard,” Sara said and flopped onto her back. Ian grinned. “This was your idea.” “I know.” She sighed. “My ideas always suck. Why do you go along with them?” “I’ll talk with Perrault tomorrow and see if we can’t come to an arrangement.” He sat up suddenly. “I’m hungry. Want to see the kitchen?” She didn’t really, but stood up anyway. Since lounging around on a bed with Ian was only leading her into temptation, it was probably better to remove herself from the situation. If nothing else, she could rest assured that Irons’ little breeding plan wasn’t going to commence while they were staying under his roof. The thought of him sitting of the other side of the video cameras was better than a cold shower. ***** Jake pulled into a parking space outside of the coroner’s building. He’d been dreading this ever since the coroner had called them just after he’d picked Sara up this morning. “You sure you want to go in?” Sara asked. “Yeah.” He put the car in park and turned it off. “Vik and I can be adults if we run into each other.” Sara shrugged and hopped out of the car. Jake couldn’t help but notice that the jeans she’d gotten to replace the ones Vicky had loaned her fit like they were painted onto her. And, though he wasn’t sure, he thought that they were some famous designer’s, too; he’d seen a pair just like that when he’d been to Macy’s last week. At the thought of his girl- … ex-girlfriend, Jake tore his eyes away from Sara’s denim-encased ass. He’d always coped with break-ups by chasing the nearest piece of tail, but that would not be a good idea this time – and especially not Sara. He got out of the car and followed Sara into the building. That looked like a new jacket, too, though pretty similar to her old black motorcycle one. Jake frowned. He didn’t like to see her getting in so close with Kenneth Irons – and he would bet anything that’s who had bought the new clothes she was wearing now. They guy was dirty and Sara knew it as well as Jake did – even better, he suspected. Sara stopped at a set of stairs heading down and held up a Bloomingdale’s bag. “I’m going to drop Vik’s clothes off. I’ll meet you at Dr. Carver’s office.” Jake nodded, but Sara had already bounded halfway down the steps. He slouched his way down the hallway to the other coroner’s office, trying not to think of what Sara and Vicky were probably going to talk about. Twenty minutes later, he would have happily faced Vicky’s anger and tears again rather than listen to the coroner talk about his research hobby – electrical burns – for another second. When Sara finally opened the door, he was so happy he nearly jumped up and kissed her. Nearly. “Ah, Detective Pezzini,” the coroner, Dr. Carver, said. “Good of you to join us. Detective McCartey and I were just getting to know one another.” “You were showing him those burn pictures, weren’t you?” Sara grinned at the coroner, then turned to Jake. “Don’t worry, he does it to everybody.” She turned back to the coroner. “What have you got on our case?” The doctor pulled on a pair of glasses and peered down at a piece of paper on his desk. “It looks like your suspect was telling the truth. Your dead guy looks like he fell on the knife.” He held up a plastic bag holding a gold-handled knife. “And a nice one it is, too. He had an interesting collection of items there. I even noticed an electric chair. I may have to see how much he wants for that.” “You’re sick, Doc,” Sara said, shaking her head. “You know that, right?” “Intellectual curiosity is not an illness.” He dropped the bag. “Now, the only thing that doesn’t add up is the time. Your body was dead at least two hours before we arrived.” “And Bowman said it had only been an hour,” Jake said. Sara shrugged. “So? He got a little confused. It was a pretty scary thing that happened to him.” Jake rolled his eyes. Sara was not one to believe something like that. Why was she so hot to let this Bowman guy go? “I take it you haven’t gotten an I.D. yet?” Sara asked. The coroner shook his head. “I’ll let you know when I do.” He held out the evidence bag. “This is yours, I believe.” Jake snagged it out of the doctor’s hand and stuffed it in his pocket. Maybe they could go return it to Bowman and he could get a few more answers out of the guy. ***** Gabe picked up the phone yet again. It was a pain to call all of these people individually, but it was the safest way he knew to get his clientele together for the auction. He didn’t trust e-mail and besides, not all of his clients had it. Like this one. He dialed the number and waited while it rang. He had never minded dealing with this client in person, though. A pretty face and a hot body made up for the inconvenience, even if she was a little old for his taste. “Hello?” a deep voice rumbled. “May I speak to Marina Dragash, please?” Gabe asked, putting on his best phone voice. “This is Gabriel Bowman from Talismaniac.com.” There was a pause and Gabe could hear a muted conversation in the background. After a moment, he could hear the sound of the phone changing hands. “This is Anka Dragash. I’m afraid Mama will be out of the country for a considerable time. I am taking over her affairs for the time being. Perhaps I can help you?” From her voice and speech, she sounded like a teenager. A little too young to be invited to the auction, but … what the heck. Her mother was an excellent customer. “Ms. Dragash-“ he began, but was cut off. “Anka,” the young woman said. “Call me Anka.” “Anka,” Gabe said slowly, liking the way the name sounded rolling off his tongue. “I am having an auction for a few very special buyers and I had planned to invite your mother. If you would like to come and bid as her agent …” “I would love to, Mr. Bowman – Gabriel, if I may.” “You may,” he said, and found himself grinning like an idiot. He gave her the information on when and where, and after he couldn’t come up with an excuse to stay on the phone any longer, hung up with a promise to see her in a few days. Only after a few more minutes did he realize he was still grinning. He shook his head at himself and forced himself to stop smiling. She was probably only sixteen. Jailbait. A schoolgirl. He wondered if she went to a private school. Where they had to wear uniforms. Little plaid skirts, bobby socks, pigtails… He was jolted out of his musings by a knock on the door. This time, he made sure he recognized who it was before he opened it. “Detectives,” he said, pulling the door open just enough for his body to fit in the opening. “Mr. Bowman, may we come in?” McCartey asked. “Uh, do you need to?” he asked. “It would be more comfortable,” the woman – Sara – said. “If you want us to stand out here in this cold, dark hallway …” Jeez, she really did remind him of his sister Mary. They must have gone to the same School of Guilt Trip. Gabe stepped back and held the door open all the way. They came in, McCartey looking around at all the shelves, not that it would do him any good. Gabe had dusted and rearranged almost all night. They headed toward the back of the shop, and Gabe followed. McCartey sat down on the couch and frowned, while his partner wandered over to his desk. She stopped at the edge of it and reached her hand out toward the nearly priceless little gold chest. He froze as the sleeve of her jacket rode up to reveal a bracelet. The Witchblade. ***** Ian tried not to fidget. If he did, he would betray his boredom, and he didn’t want to do that. After Sara had left, he’d spent the morning wandering the grounds, visiting the kennels, looking through the library, basically anything that would keep him from seeing his former master. After lunch, however, Perrault had tracked him down in the conservatory and told him that Irons wanted to see him. He had taken Ian to the study, and on the way there, Ian had asked about the chances of getting the surveillance equipment removed from his and Sara’s bedroom. Perrault had shaken his head. “Sorry. It was put in pretty quickly, though. I’d bet there are a few shorts in some of the cameras.” He’d looked meaningfully at Ian until Ian had nodded. “I’d have to have them fixed, of course, but those sorts of problems can be hard to trace.” Perrault had left him at the door of the study. Mr. Irons had waved him to the chair opposite him, a chessboard set up in between. “Care to join me for a game?” his former master had asked. “No” was the real answer, but Ian had gone to sit in the offered chair anyway. Sara had asked him to be polite – cautious, but polite – and for the time being, he was willing to indulge her. Besides, he had thought that he might be able to find out what Irons was really up to. That was worth being polite. But now, he had been sitting here for two hours and it was all he could do to stay focused on the board in front of him. Many times before he had stood silently behind his master while a chess game had gone on before him, but never had he been the one in the other chair. It was a completely different experience and a surprisingly dull one. It had been a mostly silent time, with Irons carefully considering each move before he slowly moved each exquisitely carved piece. Over an hour ago, Ian had seen the flaw that would let him eventually win, and didn’t need to consider much in the way of strategy. Hence, the boredom and the attempt not to fidget. When Ian finally announced “checkmate” forty-five minutes later, Irons leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I should have known better than to play against you, Ian, so schooled as you are in strategy.” He pressed a button on the table next to him. “Would you care for refreshments? A drink?” “After what happened last time Sara and I had something to drink here? No.” Irons flinched and frowned. Only then did Ian realize that it was the first time he had ever talked back to his former master. He felt obscurely guilty, but ignored it. It had been phrased a little harshly, maybe, but it was still true. “Ian, I want to make up for what I’ve done.” Irons voice was soft and hesitant. “I don’t know how to regain your trust …” “You never had it.” Ian stood. “There is no way you can make up for what you’ve done to me. You may have given me life, but it is not yours to take back whenever you choose to.” Ian spun on his heel and left the room. It was time to go dismantle a few video cameras. That would be a nice present for Sara when she got home. ***** Gabe tore his eyes away from her wrist as the female detective turned toward him, a quizzical expression on her face. “What’s this?” she asked, pulling her hand away from the box slowly. “Uh … Eastern European,” he stammered. “Probably designed to hold some saint’s finger or something – a reliquary.” That was true, though not the entire truth. However, if she was wearing the Witchblade, he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her what was in there now. His father would give anything to be standing here right now, in the presence of the Wielder of the Witchblade. His father’s lifelong obsession had been to find the Witchblade, like Indiana Jones’ dad’s had been the Holy Grail – and Gabe had considered his father’s quest about as realistic. It looked like Gabe owed his father an apology. “Mr. Bowman, we wanted to let you know that the death of your assailant has officially been ruled self-defense.” Gabe whirled around to face McCartey. The detective was holding out a plastic evidence bag. “Yeah, great, thanks.” Gabe took the bag. “I mean, I knew it would be. That’s what happened.” He tossed the bag with the knife in it onto the table and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Any, uh, idea who it was?” “Sorry, no.” McCartey shrugged. “No names suddenly sprang to mind overnight?” “Jake!” the Wielder admonished. “Sorry, Gabe – Mr. Bowman. My partner’s in a pissy mood today.” “No big deal. And Gabe’s fine.” He smiled what he knew to be his most charming smile, the one that even worked on his sister. “You know, I get homicide detectives in here all the time. You guys seem to be pretty big into the memorabilia thing.” “Yeah,” McCartey said. “Mind if I look around?” Gabe waved him on, never taking his eyes from Sara. McCartey wasn’t going to find anything suspicious anyway. Let him look. It was this other one he was interested in. “You into that, Detective …” Gabe trailed off. “Pezzini,” she supplied. “But call me Sara.” “Sara.” When she didn’t answer his question, he changed tack. “So how did you manage to get out of your place before it blew?” Seeing the Witchblade, Gabe had an idea, but he wanted to see what she said. “I mean, that building went up fast.” “Just had a feeling.” She shrugged. “Luck, basically.” Yeah, right. The Witchblade, not luck, was more likely. The Witchblade. What he wouldn’t give to get his hands on that. ***** Sara tried not to dwell on the disturbing images that the Witchblade had shown her when she had looked at the box, but they were hard to ignore. She closed her eyes, trying to block them out, but that only made them more visible. A giant mouth, full of sharp teeth. A man in ancient armor, swinging a sword through a woman’s neck. An animal on a stone, slit open down its belly, its entrails spread around it. Two men covered in blood, standing in a field of dead bodies. She shuddered. “You OK?” Jake asked. Sara opened her eyes to find her partner standing next to Gabriel, both of them with frowns on their faces. She suppressed another shudder. She didn’t think she was going to be able to stay here with whatever was in that gold box. “I’m fine,” she said and smiled, hoping it looked more real than it felt. “I think we’re about done here. Jake?” “Yeah.” Her partner turned to the young man next to him. “If you remember anything else, call.” Sara hustled Jake out the door, barely saying goodbye to Gabe. She only felt better when they were in the car on the way back to the station. ***** Jake hesitated in the darkness outside of Vicky’s apartment building. He knew this was stupid. Telling Vicky the truth about who he was not only jeopardized his case, but his career, too. But he couldn’t live with the lie anymore. He’d thought about it all day while stuck in the office with Sara, catching up on the paperwork that had accumulated while she’d been out. Sara, distracted herself by something or another, hadn’t even noticed that Jake had spent most of the day working on one report, staring at it, but not really seeing it. Instead, he’d been thinking about what a mess he’d made of his life. He wasn’t usually the type to brood, but the last forty-eight hours had turned his once carefully laid out life upside down. Maybe he couldn’t fix everything, but he could fix it with Vicky. Telling her the truth might not be enough to make her forgive him, but at least he would have been honest. Right now, that was enough. He pulled open the door and squinted in the comparative brightness of the small entryway. A locked glass door prevented him from getting to the elevator to get upstairs. He hoped that Vicky would at least be willing to buzz him in to talk. He was leaning hard on the intercom button when he heard a familiar laugh from past the security door. He peered through the dirty glass to the poorly lit hallway beyond and spotted Vicky near the elevator. With a man. Jake cupped his hands around his eyes to block out the glare on the glass. The man, dressed in a dark suit, was crouched at Vicky’s feet, and after a moment, Vicky crouched down, too. When they stood again, their arms were full of what looked like groceries. The elevator door opened behind them, and as they got in, Jake got a good look at the man’s face. It was the man that Ian hadn’t wanted Sara to see. What was he doing with Vicky? Irons had Sara brought to him as soon as she arrived. She looked tired and cross, but he was beginning to believe that was her normal appearance. “What?” she demanded, then took an obvious deep breath. “What can I do for you, Mr. Irons?” she asked, her tone much more polite. “I hoped that we might have a chance to speak … without Ian,” Irons said and held out his hand to indicate the chair across from him. “Please, sit.” Irons watched a series of unidentifiable emotions play across the Wielder’s face before, with a sigh, she moved to sit in the chair. She tossed her jacket and paper bag onto the floor and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Looking at him expectantly, she waited. Irons wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. No, that wasn’t exactly true. What he wanted to say was, “Do you think I might have an egg or two from you and some sperm from Ian so that I might create a walking fountain of youth? Or, alternately, could you two please produce a child as quickly as possible?” But, somehow, he didn’t think that would go over well. Though time was of the essence, he needed to be patient. He needed to gain their trust. “I am worried about Ian,” Irons said finally. Sara frowned. “Why?” “He seems to be very … angry.” Irons allowed his face to show a concern that was at least partially genuine. “I have never seen him like that before.” That was true. Ian had never before dared to speak back to him. Irons didn’t like it. Ian was his creation and should show the proper respect. “I’m not surprised.” Sara’s frown was replaced by a small smile. “He has ten years of resentment to work through.” “Resentment?” Irons tried to sound puzzled. “I gave him life, a home, education, training--” “Drugs, mind control, and an inferiority complex the size of Texas,” Sara snapped. “He’s got plenty to be pissed at you for.” Irons dropped his eyes to the floor and tried not to smile. Sara’s vehement defense of Ian heartened him. Her emotions toward his creature ran deep and when emotions were involved, Irons always held the advantage. As he contemplated his next move, his eyes strayed to the small white
bag next to Sara’s chair. There was what looked like a form stapled
to the outside, covered in small lettering. It was too far away, though,
and the print was too tiny for his failing eyes to read. Irons made a show of standing slowly and stiffly. “Could you help me pick this up, Sara? I would hate to call the housekeeper for something as little as this.” Sara looked at him skeptically, but with a roll of her eyes, got up and began to collect the pages. When she was picking up the business section by the door, Irons bent as swiftly as he could and peered closely at the tiny writing on the bag. He frowned. It was from a pharmacy and he recognized the drug’s name. Estra-Tri was one of Vorshlag’s pharmaceutical division’s best-sellers. It was a birth control pill. That would not do. ***** Sara folded the newspaper pages as neatly as she could and handed them to Irons. After putting them on the table beside him, he lowered himself carefully into the chair, grimacing as he did so. He looked a lot older than he had even a month ago. His blonde hair was white at the temples and the skin on his face and hands looked looser. Frankly, he just looked old. Sara sat back down in her chair while Irons fussed at a blanket that was draped over the arm of his seat. He seemed to be having trouble getting it untangled from a cane and the table legs and after a few moments, Sara got up again and straightened it out for him. He pulled the blanket over his legs, and smiled up at Sara. “Thank you.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I find I don’t enjoy winter as much as I used to. I used to think nothing of a jog during a snowstorm.” Snow swirling around them, Irons’ hand held up to forestall Ian from moving any closer. “I’ll bet,” Sara said, frowning at the memory from a lifetime that had never happened to her. “It’s funny how quickly time can catch up to us, isn’t it?” Irons opened his mouth to answer when the phone next to him rang. With an apologetic shrug, he picked it up. “Yes?” A brief smile crossed his face as he listened to the phone pressed to his ear. “That sounds wonderful. When?” Irons picked up a gold pen from the table and wrote down a date, time, and address on the notepad there. Irons cocked his head to the side and a slight smile quirked a corner of one lip. “That does sound like something I would be interested in. Thank you, Mr. Bowman. I will see you in a few days.” Sara froze. Bowman? As in Gabriel Bowman? No, she decided, it couldn’t be. There were probably thousands of Bowmans in the city, and millions in the world. There was no way that the person calling Irons was Gabriel Bowman. The Witchblade tingled on her wrist. A scratchy voice in the darkness. “No coincidences. You were right. The Witchblade is orchestrating your life now so nothing happens by chance or accident.” “Yeah, yeah,” Sara muttered, rolling her eyes. Of course it was Gabe. The question was: what was he doing calling Kenneth Irons? ***** Ian looked up as the door was pushed open. Sara walked in, a crease between her brows and a slight frown on her face. Seeing him, she opened her mouth, then closed it again, her frown growing deeper. Ian stood from the settee in the corner and motioned her into the bathroom. With a raised eyebrow, she followed him. Closing the door behind her, he hopped up and sat on the counter, swinging his legs. “How was your day?” he asked. Sara raised an eyebrow at him and cocked her head to the side. “Strange,” she answered. “Why are we in the bathroom? I mean, I’ve got to go, but I didn’t really think you’d want to join me.” Ian felt his face grow hot and he dropped his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sara said, and stepped closer to him, reaching out to pat his knee. “It’s been a weird day. I didn’t mean to … be mean.” Ian looked up. She did look apologetic. Smiling hopefully at him, she tossed a paper bag onto the counter and sat down on the edge of the claw-foot bath. Curious, he reached for the bag, but Sara was up again and snatched it away before he even touched it. She laughed, a little nervously, to Ian’s ears. “So why are we in here?” she asked, again perching on the bathtub. “I got rid of the surveillance in here. What’s in the bag?” “What bag?” She looked down at the bag clutched tightly in her hands. “Oh, this bag.” She looked back up at him, her face a picture of innocence. “Nothing. How did you get rid of it?” “Shorted it out. Couple of the cameras in the bedroom, too, and most of the audio.” He jumped down from the counter. “If it’s nothing, why can’t I see?” She put the bag behind her back as Ian crossed the short distance between them. “It’s … uh … a present.” Sara smiled at him. “A present. For you.” “We’re broke, and you bought me a present?” Ian raised his eyebrows as her smile faltered. “You’re not telling me the truth, Sara.” Her smile disappeared and she stood up. “It’s sort of the truth,” she said reluctantly. “Look, I’ve had a long, strange day. Can we argue over what’s in the bag later? I really need to get some sleep.” Examining her face, he saw that she really was upset. He didn’t know why she was lying to him about the bag, but he would find out eventually. He was tired, too. “Of course.” He took a step back, allowing her access to the door. “Oh, I took out all the cameras aimed at the bed, but I had to leave the others.” She nodded and pushed past him out the door, but not before Ian noticed a blush color her face. Why was that? ***** Sara jumped in the car and gave a wave toward the house, but Jake couldn’t see anyone. Buckling herself in, she turned to look at him. Dark circles marred her usually perfect skin. “You look like crap,” he told her. She peered at him and shrugged. “Weird dreams. You don’t look so hot yourself.” She pointed out the front window. “Drive.” Jake put the car into gear and pulled out of the driveway. He knew he looked awful. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours last night. All night, he’d been thinking about Vicky and that other man. Who was he? Why was he there? What had he said to make he laugh like that? Why was she with him? Jake hadn’t thought that he’d be that easy to get over, but he guessed he was. In only twenty-four hours, she had been taking another man up to her apartment. At night. Alone. “Jake!” Sara’s yell pulled him out of his thoughts. Brake lights flared in front of him and he slammed on his own. The car slewed to a sloppy stop on the wet pavement, and Sara let out an explosive breath. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Pay attention!” “Sorry.” Jake’s hands shook on the wheel from the sudden burst of adrenaline. “I was … I didn’t sleep much last night. I’m kind of out of it.” “Want me to drive?” Sara reached for the latch of her seatbelt, but Jake shook his head. She frowned, but nodded. “All right, but be careful, OK?” They continued the drive to the precinct in silence, and Jake paid very close attention to the road, shoving out any stray thought. When they got to the station, Sara went straight to her desk and logged onto the internet. Jake got a cup of coffee, then, after a moment’s thought, got one for Sara, too. He didn’t want her pissed at him, and a gift of caffeine was usually enough to put her in a decent mood. When he handed her a cup, she nodded her thanks, but didn’t look away from her computer screen. On it was a picture of a painting, a woman in blue, holding some sort of fruit. He vaguely recognized the style, but could quite place the artist. “What’s that?” he asked, going around to sit on his side of the two desks. “Have something to do with a case?” “Huh?” She looked up distractedly, then, with a frown, leaned back in her chair and took a sip of coffee. “It’s a painting in the Tate Gallery in London. Proserpine, by Dante Gabriel Rosetti.” “OK … so why are you looking at it?” “Because I saw it at the house this morning and it’s supposed to be on display in London.” She sat forward and peered closely at the screen. “I went the wrong way when I was trying to find the dining room and there it was, hanging at the end of a hallway. I thought it was this - I always thought she had really awful hair.” “Maybe it’s a reproduction?” Sara shook her head, and Jake didn’t believe it, either. Kenneth Irons was not the type to have a fake hanging on his walls. But neither was the Tate Gallery. “So what do you want to do?” Jake asked. “You can give the robbery division a call.” Before Sara could answer, a uniformed cop stuck his head in the door
behind her and held out a piece of paper. Sara spun her chair around and grabbed it. “Thanks,” Jake said, as Sara flipped through the fax. She looked up at him, an unreadable expression on her face. “They I.D.’ed the guy Gabriel Bowman killed.” She handed the papers to him. “Nicodemos Stagias. International art and antiquities dealer.” ***** Irons walked on the treadmill, holding tightly to the rails. Immo had insisted that the walking would help his stiff knees, but right now, Irons didn’t believe it. He glared at the man in front of him. “He believed you when you told him it would take several days to fix?” “Yes, sir,” Perrault said, nodding slowly. “I repaired the cameras this morning while Nottingham was walking the dogs.” “You should have repaired them last night.” Irons stabbed the off button and let the mat under him deliver him to the floor. “They could have easily been distracted.” “I’m sorry, sir, but it was my evening off.” A half smile quirked on his face. “I was ... occupied.” “Hm. No doubt.” Irons had heard reports from Ian, when it had been his creation’s job to supervise the security staff. “And did you replace the pills?” Perrault nodded, though he looked uncomfortable. No wonder - as a notorious seducer of women, birth control was likely high on his list of favorite things. But Irons paid Perrault well. He may not have liked his task, but he had done it. That was all that mattered. “And ... ?” Irons prompted. “I noted the brand of condoms.” He held out a piece of paper, and Irons took it from him. “When you have the replacements ready, please let me know.” Irons smiled at the paper. This day was beginning on a wonderful note. ***** Gabe rolled his eyes as he looked through the peephole. While he didn’t wouldn’t mind talking to the Wielder of the Witchblade a little more, it didn’t look like she and her partner were paying a social call. Not by the looks on their faces. He pulled open the door. “Hello, Mr. Bowman,” McCartey said. “Thought you’d like to know we I.D.’ed your intruder.” “What - you couldn’t just call?” Gabe stood in the doorway, making it clear they weren’t invited in. “Who was he?” “Are you absolutely positive you didn’t recognize him?” Sara was frowning – it looked like her previous friendliness was gone. “Think hard.” “I had never seen him before he pushed his way into my place.” It was actually the truth. Why weren’t they believing him? “Do you know a man named ...” McCartey looked down at a paper in his hand. “Nicodemos Stagias?” “Uh, yeah. Greek art guy. I’ve never met him but ...” His eyes widened as he realized why they were asking. “That was him? Why the hell would he try to kill me? I’ve never even bought anything from him.” “Do you have something he might want?” McCartey asked. Gabe carefully kept his face blank. “No, I can’t think of anything. I don’t deal much in Greek stuff.” Sara raised an eyebrow at him and rubbed at the stone of the Witchblade. He thought he saw it glow between her fingers, but he couldn’t quite tell. She looked down at her wrist and frowned, then stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. “Maybe you would be able to think about it better at the station.” Sara smiled at him in a way that wasn’t at all nice. “Come on, Gabriel, get your coat.” He didn’t have to go with him. They didn’t have anything or they wouldn’t be fishing for answers like this. But he needed to get them off his case before the auction. Gabe grabbed his jacket from the chair next to the door. ***** Ian was reading in the chilly conservatory when Perrault found him. Ian put his book down as the other man approached, a swagger in his step. “Nottingham, hiding out here?” “I enjoy the quiet,” Ian admitted, “but hardly am I hiding.” Perrault grinned, and Ian didn’t blame him - Ian was indeed hiding. The thought of spending another day playing chess with Irons made him cringe. Even worse would be trapped into small talk with his former master - especially as it would never really be small talk, but always with a purpose. Out here, in the cold glass room with the dying plants, he had thought he would be free of Irons’ grasp. He was finding it easier to be in the house than he had thought it would be. It was easy for him to remember the good things about living here: the books, the art, the food ... He didn’t want to remember the bad things, so he focused on the good, making him strangely ... happy ... if not for the fact that he was bored. “I thought you might walk with me,” Perrault said. “Give me a review of the security arrangements.” Ian stood. Why not? It might even be fun. It was certainly better than being bored. They walked through the entire house, Perrault pointing out changes that had been made since Ian had been gone. There had been a lot. More cameras, more motion detectors, noise level detectors - Perrault told him that Irons had had them installed just a day after Matthew had been killed. A different contractor had been used for each section of the house, and Perrault had done the final parts of the installation himself. It was a good set up, almost as good as Ian would have designed himself. Of course, Irons wouldn’t have needed all of this, if Ian had been here. With a trained killer at his side, electronic devices were more decoration than anything else. Now, though, they and Perrault and his staff were all that were between Irons and the outside world. For some reason, that troubled Ian. He knew it shouldn’t, but it did. Irons had kept him shackled - mind and soul - for ten years; he owed nothing to the man. But still ... He could see flaws in the security system. It would do no harm to help fix them. And it would be something to keep him busy while Sara was off at work. ***** Jake slammed his fist onto the wall next to the one-way glass. Behind it, Gabe turned in his seat and smiled. He gave a small wave, then turned back around and put his feet up on the table. “Why’d he have to ask for a lawyer?” Jake kicked the wall. “We aren’t charging him.” “Because he’s not a stupid kid, Jake.” She grabbed his arm as went to punch the wall again. “As soon as he asks for one, we’ve got to stop questioning him.” And Gabe wasn’t stupid, Sara knew. As soon as they’d started to delve into his stock, he’d asked for a lawyer. All this had something to do with something he’d acquired recently, she was sure of it now. Before, standing in the hallway of his building, she’d had a Witchblade flash of Gabe handing over a check and getting something in a battered cardboard box in return. The Witchblade hadn’t shown her what was in the box, but she would bet that it was the reason Stagias had come for his little unannounced visit. “Yeah, I know.” Jake pulled his arm away from her and ran his hand through his hair. “I just know there’s something he’s not telling us.” He looked speculatively at her. “You know, I was suspicious from the beginning.” Sara sighed. If Jake was right, this was going to turn into an “I told you so” – she just knew it. Maybe a preemptive apology would throw him off. “I know. I’m sorry I ignored you.” “You should be!” He looked like he was going to say something more, but he took a deep breath instead, letting it out after holding it for several seconds. “I think he’s trafficking in stolen artifacts.” He lowered his voice. “That’s a federal crime.” Sara nodded her head, but she didn’t really want to have to agree. In the other life she remembered, she had been very careful not to ask too much about her friend’s business. Gabe was a very principled guy, but they were very personal principles. Sara had a feeling that a little bit of a dubious sale history wouldn’t keep Gabe from buying a particularly cool artifact. Why did he have to come back into her life this way? The door to the observation room slammed open, and both Sara and Jake jumped. Captain Dante stalked his way into the room, his face scowling. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “This case was self-defense, remember? What are you questioning him on?” “We think there’s more to this than meets the eye Captain-“ Jake began. “Who’s brilliant idea was this?” Dante looked back and forth between them. “Well?” Out of the corner of her eye, Sara could see Jake opening his mouth. If he admitted it, Dante would be pissed, and Jake would be risking his federal investigation. If Dante were pissed at her, it sure as hell wouldn’t be anything new. “Mine,” Sara said, before Jake could speak. “I thought it might be a good idea to get all the details before we closed the case.” A look of disgust crossed Dante’s face and he shook his head slowly. “Why am I not surprised? And you just have to drag McCartey down with you.” He stabbed his finger toward her. “Send him home and leave him alone. Case closed. Understand?” “Yes, sir,” she said, and even managed to keep her teeth unclenched. “Right away, Captain Dante, sir.” She was tempted to snap off a salute, but she figured that was going a bit too far. Dante glared at her, not even trying to hide his dislike. After a moment, he turned to Jake. “McCartey, come with me,” he said, and stalked out of the room. Jake looked at Sara, but she waved him off. “Go. I’ve got this.” When he left, Sara turned back to the glass and looked carefully at Gabriel Bowman. What had Dante so suddenly interested in somebody’s civil rights? There was only one person Sara knew of who could make Dante make such a switch. Irons. ***** Jake sat down in the chair Dante pointed to as the captain closed the door behind him. The captain sat down behind his desk and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together. It was what Jake thought of as his “pontiff pose.” Dante was getting ready to give him a lecture, and it was time to play the doofus rookie. “You think that Bowman kid is a bad guy?” the captain asked. “He do anything wrong by killing that guy?” “No, he seems like a nice kid,” Jake said. “His business is a little on the shady side, but …” “Shady?” Dante shook his head. “Special Investigations has checked him out. Take my word, he’s clean. He’s got records for everything he sells.” Probably forged for the stolen stuff, Jake knew, but a typical answer for Dante. Special Investigations was Dante’s own personal fiefdom; they did anything he said, cleared anyone he said. Now, Jake was positive Bowman had to be doing something wrong. “I’ve bought and sold a few things with the kid,” Dante continued. “Drives a hard bargain, but it’s worth it.” Dante leaned back in his chair, the lecture apparently over. That hadn’t been nearly as bad as Jake had thought it would be. There had to be something else. When Dante just stared at him, Jake realized some kind of response from him was in order. “Yeah, OK.” Jake nodded and laughed depreciatingly. “I mean, I thought it was a little, you know, stupid, when Sara said we needed to bring him in, but she’s my training officer, so …” “We’re going to have to do something about that soon.” Dante said thoughtfully. “Don’t want her making you any enemies. Speaking of …” The captain smiled his half-smile. “I’ve got a special job for you, if you’re interested. Make yourself useful to someone powerful.” “Uh … sure.” Jake suppressed a grin. This was what he was supposed to be doing in this department! “I’m always happy to help out.” “Great.” The captain pulled a small box from a desk drawer. “I need for you to slip this into your partner Pezzini’s coffee.” “What?” He had to have heard that wrong. “Sara’s coffee?” “It won’t hurt her. And she’s got to drink it.” Dante watched him carefully. Obviously this was a test. It probably wasn’t even anything. Just a test. He wouldn’t be poisoning Sara. “Uh, OK.” Jake reached out and took the box. “What is it?” “Can’t tell you that.” Dante smiled. “I know you’ve got a soft spot for that crazy bitch, but don’t let that get in the way of your advancement, McCartey. I’m grooming you here. I want you to succeed.” “I want to succeed, too,” Jake assured him, but he wasn’t sure if this was the price he was willing to pay. “I won’t let you down, Captain.” Dante stood and walked around the desk. He clapped his hand on Jake’s shoulder and gave it a shake. “I know you won’t.” ***** Perrault walked into the room, and Irons tapped on the small blue box on the table next to him. His head of security came over and picked up the box, carefully turning it over in his hands. “Very good,” Irons said into the phone. “I was sure that you would be able to take care of it, Bruno. I will look forward to your report.” Irons set the phone down and looked expectantly at the man in front of him. Perrault stopped fiddling with the box and stood to attention. “Nottingham reviewed security arrangements with me, sir, as you requested.” Perrault’s near-perfect features were momentarily marred by a slight frown. “There are some fixes that need to be made. He is currently in the security center drawing up new plans for the perimeter system.” Irons allowed himself a small smile. The perimeter security had been Perrault’s baby, meticulously planned and installed by the man personally. He was likely little pleased that Ian was now pointing out its flaws. Good. It would make Perrault all the more amenable to Irons’ orders. “I’m sure Ian is only thinking of my security,” Irons said, his voice carefully neutral. He nodded to the box in Perrault’s hand. “If he is busy, then perhaps you could make that switch now.” Perrault looked down, as if he had forgotten the box was there. A slow not-quite-nice smile spread across his face. He looked back up at Irons. “It would be my pleasure.” ***** Gabe stamped up the stairs of the building, trying to get his feet warm. The heater in the taxi had been broken, and the room the detectives had kept him in had been freezing. He still couldn’t quite feel his toes and had to look down to make sure they were still there. As he topped the stairs, he looked up from his shoes and stopped. A woman stood at his door, her back to him. His eyes went from her knee-high leather boots, paused briefly on a nice expanse of pale muscled thighs, traveled up a tight black skirt and short wool coat, and stopped on a thick ponytail of nearly white blonde hair. She turned toward him and Gabe felt his eyes go wide. Woman might have been the wrong word. Girl was more like it. Sixteen, probably. Seventeen, maybe. Eighteen, hopefully. “Gabriel?” she asked, taking a step toward him. “Uh, yeah. Yes.” He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair. “Can I help you?” She smiled and Gabe suddenly wasn’t cold anymore. “I’m Anka Dragash.” ***** Sara waited as long as she figured it would take Gabe to make it up the stairs to his shop and apartment. It had been hard to get an unmarked car on short notice, but she could be charming when she needed to be and had managed to get a beat-up old Ford out of the transport pool officer. Gabe hadn’t given any indication that he noticed he was being followed, and counted herself lucky – Gabe was usually pretty paranoid, but he must have had more important things on his mind. Sara started up the steps, slowly, giving Gabe all the time he needed to get inside. As she reached the top, though, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, and she had to grab the railing to stay upright. She heard a door close and her head slowly cleared. Leaning against wall, Sara took a deep breath. She’d been feeling better the past couple days, which was amazing, considering all that had happened. Once she had gotten away from Anka and her crazy mother, she hadn’t had even the slightest dizziness. Why was she feeling sick now? It couldn’t be Anka – what would she be doing here? She was just a little girl. Were there more werewolves in New York? Sara shook her head. It didn’t matter. Besides, she felt better now; it had probably just been a little wooziness from skipping lunch. She’d have to grab something quick on the way back to the station, since she’d told Jake that she was meeting Ian for lunch. Jake had frowned at that, but hadn’t said anything. She had thought he’d gotten over that little jealousy thing, but maybe breaking up with Vicky had brought it back. Sara hoped not – it was hard enough to work with Jake sometimes without him having a crush on her. Sara pushed off from the wall and poked her head around the corner. The hallway was empty – the door that she heard close must have been Gabe’s. She edged down the hallway, trying to stay quiet. What she was doing was illegal. The little audio bug she’d borrowed from the property room was for a case that had already been adjudicated, so she didn’t feel at all bad about that, but she did feel bad for spying on Gabe. It was hard for her not to think of him as her friend, even if he really wasn’t, in this life. She didn’t want to see him get into any trouble, not if she could help it. But if he wouldn’t tell her why someone had come after him, then she would find out for herself. She reached the door and was trying to find a spot to hide the bug when her vision blurred around the edges. Grabbing the doorjamb, the bug slipped from her fingers and skitted across the floor. She tried to clear her vision when what felt like static filled her head, and she slumped to the floor. She must have passed out, because when she opened her eyes, there was a face close in front of her. Her eyes slowly cleared, but her head still buzzed with dizziness. “Sara?” a voice asked. Sara tried and finally managed to focus on the face in front of her. It was a girl – no, a young woman. She looked familiar, but Sara couldn’t quite place her. “Sara? Can you hear me?” the young woman asked and leaned even nearer. “You need to take off the …” She frowned slightly, then lowered her voice. “You need to take off your bracelet. You will feel better if you do.” Sara shook her head. There was no way she was taking off the Witchblade when she didn’t know who this young woman was or how she knew about it. Sara stared hard at her, trying again to remember where she knew her from. "Come now, Ian will worry if you are ill again." How could she know about Ian? Sara concentrated on the face in front of her, looking closely at the blue eyes, the high cheekbones, and pale skin of the woman before her. She squinted her eyes and an impossible thought clicked into place. "Anka?" Sara whispered. "But you're too old ..." The young woman's mouth quirked up at one side. "My family ages differently than others. It is good to see you again." Sara pulled the Blade off her wrist and her head immediately cleared. "Yeah, good to see you, too," she said. "Uh, what are you doing here?" ***** Ian pushed open the door and tossed his coat on the armchair just inside. Before he could reach the light switch, a rustle of sound put his training into action, and he was across the room, the muzzle of his gun pressed against soft flesh before he could even think. "Ouch," Perrault's voice came from the darkness. "I loan you a gun, and you repay me by bashing in my skull with it?" Ian didn't remove the weapon, but reached out and turned on the lamp by the bedside table. Perrault stood perfectly still, his hands away from his body. He looked at Ian from the corner of his eye. "So you going to shoot me or what?" Perrault asked. "What are you doing in here?" Ian pulled the gun away from Perrault's head and reholstered it. "What is Mr. Irons up to now?" "Did you know that the surveillance in here is out?" Perrault asked with a grin. "Really?" Ian managed to keep his face straight. "Pity." "I can't seem to find what the problem is, though." Perrault shrugged. "Shoddy installation, probably." Perrault stuffed his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to the door. "I'm afraid I'll have to break the news to Mr. Irons." With a wink, Perrault shut the door behind him. Ian stared at the door for a moment, then turned back to where Perrault had been standing. The drawer in the bedside table was open slightly, and that had been just in front of the other man. This was what Ian was already thinking of as Sara's side of the bed, and Ian hesitated to snoop, but if Perrault already had ... With one finger, he snagged the top of the drawe | |